


that sugar babe it melts away

by spacenarwhal



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Always a girl Foggy, F/M, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacenarwhal/pseuds/spacenarwhal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh,” Foggy says with a grin, slipping her hand into Matt’s and letting him half-tug her over to him until she’s straddling his hips. “Are you going all caveman on me, Murdock? Gotta say it kinda works for me.”</p><p>Matt’s grin widens, a touch of smugness sharpening the edges of it when he says, “I know."</p>
            </blockquote>





	that sugar babe it melts away

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses y'all.
> 
> Written for DD Bingo, the prompt was "face sitting"

“C’mere.” Matt drawls, stretching out on his back with a loose grin on his face, holding out a hand for Foggy to take. 

“Oh,” Foggy says with a grin, slipping her hand into Matt’s and letting him half-tug her over to him until she’s straddling his hips. “Are you going all caveman on me Murdock? Gotta say it kinda works for me.”

Matt’s grin widens, a touch of smugness sharpening the edges of it when he says, “I know.”

Foggy rolls her eyes, pulls her hand free of Matt’s and bats at his (admittedly impressive) chest. “Hey, I thought we’d put a moratorium on super-sense abetted flirting in the bed room.” Matt catches her hand again, traps it against his chest, and it would be easier to hold her ground if he didn’t look half as dopey as he does when he smiles at her, his features softened with fondness and a boy-like happiness he doesn’t wear nearly enough. “It’s not cheating if it’s already in evidence.” Matt’s free hand falls to her leg, creeps up under the oversized t-shirt she usually sleeps in until it’s curling over her hip. 

“Objection—” Foggy starts but Matt just laughs, hand leaving her hip to pull on the hem of her t-shirt, yanks it up off her thighs in uneven little jerks. Whatever objection Foggy has gets buried under a laugh of her own, pulls her hand free again to grab at the t-shirt herself. “I think we know each other well enough that you can just ask if you wanna get me naked Matty.” She teases, and Matt’s smile edges towards dangerously pleased when she tosses her shirt off the side of the bed. “I think we know each other well enough that I could call you Francine.” He says, and Foggy snorts indignantly, pretends to move off him and squeaks with laughter when Matt’s hands grab at her hips, keep her where she is. “Mood killer Matthew.” She chides, but Matt’s grip slackens, his hands roam free, over her sides and hips, down her thighs (she bites back an apology for not shaving in the last few days but she knows Matt would just brush if off, rub his own stubbled chin against her neck and pretend to regret it as he kisses the hot skin he leaves behind and Foggy didn’t know it was even a thing for her but here she is now, squirming and breathless over how good it feels when Matt sucks a bruising kiss into the sensitive skin at the base of her throat).

“I’ll make it up to you.” Matt promises, palm heavy and wide at her shoulder, and there’s not a chance in the world that Matt misses the shiver that runs through her at the sound of his voice. “Oh yeah?” She asks, glancing down to where Matt’s sweats are tenting. So much for hitting the hay early. 

“Yeah.” Matt says, thumb sweeping gently up the side of her throat and Foggy braces her hands on his chest. It’s a group effort to get her underwear off, which undoubtedly would be a hundred times easier if Matt let her move off his lap or if he stopped sidetracking her with kisses, lips hot and persistent against her own, fingertips sneaking up the inside of her thigh and stopping just short of where Foggy wants them most.

Matt Murdock: Goddamn tease.

Matt’s sweats come off easy-peasy in comparison, Matt kicks them off the bed a long with most of the blankets and Foggy’s ready to get the ball rolling, reaches for Matt’s dick and strokes languidly in retribution. “Ugh—Fog—wait.” Matt takes her wrist in hand, pulls her off and presses single kiss to the heart of her palm and then his hands are at her hips again. She’s wet already, can feel it in the heat collecting between her legs. It won’t take more than a few of his fingers before she’s ready to have him inside. Foggy’s spent the last thirty-odd years doing her damnest not to be ashamed of her body, but she can’t deny she’s never felt as uninhibited riding a guy as she does with Matt. And that has nothing to do with the blind thing—obviously her brain’s found a hundred other things to be self-conscious about—and everything to do with Matt, his grins and his laughter and the corny jokes he somehow manages to find breath for when they’re in the middle of things. It’s the blush that rises in his face when Foggy tells him how pretty he is, how he kisses her like it’s all they could ever do, how satisfied he looks when Foggy sighs his name. 

She rises on her knees, a little confused when he guides her up, past his hips, up on to his stomach, then his ribs, then higher. Oh. “Oh.” She says softly, scooting up the rest of the way, working with Matt now that they’re on the same page. Matt noses between her legs and Foggy definitely blushes, her face burns hot at the look that crosses his face. Matt kisses the inside of her thigh, bites just barely at the soft skin there. “I won’t talk about it if you don’t like it,” he starts, voice vibrating over her skin and making everything feel that much more intense, hotter and closer and she clenches around nothing, aches from the sound of his voice alone. Matt nuzzles her other thigh. “But you’re—Foggy you’re—I can smell you, when you want me—and it drives me crazy.” He mouths at her cunt, a dizzying tease and Foggy makes a short, breathless sound, braces her hands on the headboard to keep from toppling over. “Matty—” But then Matt’s tongue is there, pointed over her clit and her hips jolt at the shock she knew was coming. “Oh fuck.”

Matt huffs a smothered laugh against her, it shivers against her cunt and she shudders all over, her skin prickles everywhere when he sucks her clit between his lips, hands stroking over her spread thighs. She tries to hold her pose on her knees but his mouth is maddening, alternating between deliberately slow licks with the flat of his tongue and sucking directly over her clit. Her hands ache from gripping the headboard, her hips jerk unevenly against his mouth as she tries to keep from sitting directly on his face and smothering him. It takes an embarrassingly short time to get her rambling. “ _Mah_ -Matty, oh god, you’re— _fuck_ , fuck—how are you so good at this?” Foggy’s not complaining, really she isn’t, but damn, it doesn’t seem real somedays even in the face of every other impossible thing peppered throughout her life these days. 

Matt pulls away, kisses the apex of her thigh. She can feel his smirk. “I’ve been a diligent student.” He mumbles and Foggy snorts, face hot and sweat prickling the backs of her knees, her arousal a literal throb low in her belly. She doesn’t even have it in her to be jealous at the memory of Matt’s many previous paramours, none of them have Matt Murdock’s head between their legs tonight. 

Foggy’s eyes flicker closed at the brief touch of Matt’s lips against her cunt, “Can’t believe you pray with that mouth.” 

Matt’s hands slide up to her thighs come to rest at her waist and knead gently, “I do a lot of things with this mouth.” He licks pointedly. 

“Yeah, I’m seeing that.” Her voice drops into something breathy and light at the end as Matt’s tongue performs some downright miraculous feats against her clit. 

She almost doesn’t realize she’s doing it, lost in the building pleasure, the wetness, the slick slide of Matt’s mouth. When he groans it shakes her to the core, draws her back to herself long enough to realize she’s been grinding against his mouth, bearing her full weight into each roll of her hips against his face. Her face burns and her chest heaves as she sucks in a deep breath, her hair itches against the back of her neck. She shifts, tries to get her knees back under her more firmly, lift off Matt, “Sorry—sorry.” But Matt’s hands squeeze at her waist, “No, don’t, _please_.” It’s the desperation in his voice almost as much as his face when she gets a good look at him (red and wet and full of want) that makes her squirm. “Really?” She squeaks, glances backwards to where Matt’s still hard, cock red and leaking— “ _Matt_.”

She touches the top of Matt’s head with one shaking hand, threads her fingers through his hair and lets him bring her back, trusts him to take her weight as he goes back to eating her out like a fucking champ. She moans his name and tugs, makes him mewl against her cunt and that’s it, his tongue and the knowledge that Matt’s getting off on this as much as she is. She curls into herself, slouches forward with a choked off cry. Matt’s fingers dig into her sides, his mouth still working against her and she gasps, a second orgasm coiling tight and springing free between one breath and the next, shorter but no less intense. 

“Matty, Matty, Matty.” She pets his hair, wiggles away from his mouth and pretty much collapses next to him on the bed. 

Her legs are sore from kneeling over his face, their ache when she stretches them out at last, almost matches the ache she feels low in her belly and still pulsing in her swollen cunt. Her eyes are still closed when Matt rolls towards her, kisses her with his mouth a sticky, briny mess. His palm curls over her ribs, just under her boob, makes Foggy feel steadier, more grounded as her heart slows inside her chest. 

When she slips her fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck he sighs against her mouth, rests his cheek against her chest with his ear over her heart (against her thigh his dick is a softening already, sticky with come). “We should probably hit the shower.” She says, swatting lazily at Matt’s ass. It’s been pretty neglected after all. 

Matt makes a muffled harrumph against her neck, tries to burrow closer. “In a minute.” He says drowsily, tangling their legs together, wiggling closer. They’re an assortment of sweaty limbs all tangled together, slipping closer and closer to sleep with every slowing breath they take. Still, Foggy lets her eyes slip shut again, lets herself get pulled in by the lazy pattern Matt traces over the skin of her side. A minute, she tells herself, wraps her arms around Matt’s shoulders and holds him close. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Beyonce's _Blow_.


End file.
